A Cold Day in July
by LucklessSlinger
Summary: The death of Ellis Grey


Disclaimer: Not mine, I don't own them. The Wonderful Madame Shonda Rhimes owns them, and is thy master. And the title and lyrics are from the Dixie Chicks. There you have it.

"_You always said the day that you'd leave me  
Would be a cold day in July"_

There was no cold drizzle on a gray day. In fact, the sun was blaring down upon the funeral mourners during the noon time service. There they were, all dressed up in their fine clothes, black suits and dark dresses, the men pulling at their ties and the women squirming in their heels and pantyhose. For the many who intended, it was not a somber occasion to mourn those who were dearest to them; frankly, many of the guests never met her and only knew her by name. Fond memories and witty anecdotes of the life of Ellis Grey were not passed around for only a few of the guests truly knew her. The casket stood front and center, a deep hole to the right and slightly behind the coffin, which would be Ellis' final resting place, and in front of the coffin stood the guests.

Meredith Grey, the prodigal daughter, stood in the blackest of black dresses, knee length with a scoop neck. Conservative and non-descript, she made a point not to stand out, so she wouldn't be subjected to random people who barely knew her mother and only wanted a brief glimpse of that fame, who blathered on and on about the importance of this or the significance of that. Her hands clutched, white-knuckled, at a few yellow roses to be tossed into the grave when they would lower her mother into the ground. Truthfully, she was almost glad of this moment, finally seeing her mother free of the horrid disease that had devastated her mind in the final years. She thought, feeling rather guilty, that she was free of the pain that her mother had caused her, those lost moments of childhood where she clutched at her fathers' neck waiting for a glimpse of her mother or the other hallmarks of childhood that so many of her friends received. She has been alone for most of her life, despite the brief _harsh _reprieve her mother's illness gave her to spend time with her for once in her life, and now she was alone again. True, she had her friends, but a family, those to share in the sum total of her life, were not to be found. Although for all the moments of relief the death seems to have brought her, Ellis was still her mother and she still loved her, and the sun was unwilling to yield to the pain of death.

Her immediate friends were standing right behind her, wanting to offer their support but unsure of how to do so since her face was a perfect mask of stoicism, eyes dry and lips thin and straight. Cristina would occasionally take a glimpse of her friend but otherwise gave her space, offering her support the only way she knew how, by standing there beside her. Izzie crowded in close to Meredith, wanting to be the shoulder she cried on, the one to lean against. She couldn't really understand this emotionless person, who did not cry or talk or grasp on to the nearest person and simply wail. For someone so adept at expressing her emotions, she couldn't understand someone who didn't. George, standing behind Izzie but still oh-so-near Meredith, never took his eyes off her, but didn't say a word for fear of hurting Meredith worse.

Further back in the crowd, huddled between prestigious, world class doctors were Derek and Addison Shepherd. Neither of them had met Ellis, excluding the short visit from Derek concerning the study on Alzheimer's, but they had come to pay their respects just the same. Addison looked as glamorous as ever in her mourner's clothes, with a black scarf tied around her hair, and whose eyes were wetter than Meredith's. Derek just stood there, holding his wife's hands, but never taking his eyes, or mind, off of Meredith.

Chief Webber stood off to the side, but near enough to the front to see the casket that held Ellis Grey's body. He didn't know how to act, being an ex-lover of hers but having to maintain the look of a close friend and a respected colleague. He worked hard to put on this front, when he wanted to cry and kneel at her side, but he couldn't do that. As much history as the two of them shared, completing their residency together, sharing a bed in secret, moments in scrub rooms, idle conversation in hallways, and the final days of her declining health, he could not have that moment. He couldn't even admit to wanting that himself while he knew that his wife, Adele, was sitting at home. She could not bring herself to come to the funeral of a woman who almost broke up their marriage but respected her husband's decision to be present.

Thatcher Grey did not attend.

La Fin


End file.
